


The Best Thing

by lockmyheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, PDA, public kiss, sherlock kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockmyheart/pseuds/lockmyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has told Sherlock to just act pleasant and do what they ask him to do, but when the crowd of reporters starts to chant at them to kiss, does that still apply?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that I wrote a long time ago, and only very recently finished, as a fill for the Sherlock kink meme, but I have actually managed to lose the prompt itself so if you were the one who prompted this, this fic is for you! The prompt asked for a press conference where the crowd started to chant "Kiss him! Kiss him!" at Sherlock at John. 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd or britpicked yet, so if you see any glaring errors I encourage you to let me know. This is my first (finished and posted) fic for the Sherlock fandom.

It was repulsive how the media ate everything up like it was candy. Sherlock absolutely hated it. John hated it as well, but he obviously found Sherlock’s hatred for it amusing so he found ways to hate it a little less because of that. Sometimes it even seemed as if he enjoyed it. 

“It’s just a press conference, Sherlock,” John said from behind his newspaper without even looking up. “Stop pacing, you’re driving me mad.”

Sherlock ignored him, wringing his hands together in front of himself in irritation. “How can you stand it?” he shot at his flatmate, frustrated with how calm he was being about this nonsense. 

John glanced up at him now. “Relax,” he said pointedly. “It won’t be any different from last time. You survived that just fine, didn’t you?”

“That hat!” Sherlock seethed and his body actually shuddered involuntarily. “Why, John? Tell me why. Why do they like things like that? What is the _point_?”

John patiently folded up his paper and placed it on the table and Sherlock twitched as he waited for him to explain. “Have you ever seen interviews with movie actors?” John asked him and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“I can’t quite see the rel –“

“When they interview actors they often ask him or her to recite a famous line from a movie they’ve starred in, something their character often says. Fans go mad for it, it makes it more real to them somehow. It’s like that with the hat,” he said and stood up, walking into the kitchen. Sherlock followed him with his eyes. “It’s become _you_ to them.”

Sherlock shuddered again. “Why do you know that anyway?” he asked. “Are you harbouring secret movie fetishes? Do you sit at your computer squealing over Hollywood movie stars when I’m not here?”

John just shot him a look. “I watch movies like normal people. And you’re always here.”

“Dull. And I am not.”

“When you’re not here you’re most likely on a case and then I’m always with you. I’m rarely ever home alone.”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. “Would you like to be?”

John looked surprised and he shook his head like Sherlock was being stupid. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “No, that’s not what I was saying; I don’t like being alone anyway. I was just proving your theory wrong.”

Silence fell between them as John did something as boring and predictable as doing the dishes and Sherlock flung himself onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh, hoping that John would take pity of him and entertain him instead. 

He didn’t. 

Half an hour later a hot cup of tea was placed in front of him and John took a seat opposite of him. “So,” John started. “Nervous?”

“No,” Sherlock said with a small glare and sat up, pulling the mug towards him. “I have nothing to be nervous about; we’re just talking about the case.”

John nodded but he didn’t look convinced, his eyes were sparkling with amusement and the corners of his lips were turned upwards ever so slightly. It was irritating so Sherlock decided to ignore him for the next forty minutes just because he could.

*

The questions were dull and predictable as always and Sherlock answered them all almost on autopilot. John elbowed him in the side every now and then when he said something that apparently fell into the category of _wrong_ , but he didn’t pay it much mind. He just wanted to get through this, he was already getting tired of the cameras flashing and his brain was automatically deducing every single reporter in front of him out of sheer boredom and it was exhausting. 

Plus, they had made him put the hat on. _Again_. Sherlock had been so annoyed that he would have stormed out of there if it hadn’t been for the warning looks that John had given him. ‘Behave’ his eyes said now every time he glanced at Sherlock. ‘Behave and give them what they want so we can go home sooner’. 

So he faked a smile and acted as pleasant as he could and John hadn’t elbowed him in the ribs the past two minutes so he had to be doing well. 

Then a young female reporter raised her voice and almost yelled, “How is it like solving crimes with Sherlock Holmes, John?”

The question, directed at John this time, made Sherlock almost smirk because John looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He looked at Sherlock for help but he simply shrugged back at him subtly. Serves him right, Sherlock thought, he deserved to answer some of these stupid questions as well. See how fun _he_ thinks it is. 

“It’s, uh, it’s…” John started, fumbling to find his words. “It’s great,” he said and Sherlock almost rolled his eyes. Pathetic. “I mean it’s fantastic. I never thought people like him existed, I didn’t think it was possible, so… so to see him in action, it’s unbelievable.”

The crowd of reporters immediately started to bombard John with more questions, apparently they loved his answer. Sherlock scowled a little. How was John’s fumbling answer better than his own?

“Doctor Watson!” a man yelled. “Doctor Watson, what is your role in it all when working with Mr Holmes? What do _you_ do?”

John sneaked an amused glance at Sherlock that probably didn’t go unnoticed by anyone before he said, “Oh, I just tag along really,” and everyone chuckled, including Lestrade who was standing in the door behind them, watching over it, making sure Sherlock didn’t put anyone in a bad light. “I don’t know why he needs me there; maybe it’s for moral support. Or so he can have someone around to compliment him and tell him that he’s amazing. He secretly loves that, I think.”

The crowd of reporters laughed and uttered sounds that could only be described as coos, and now it was Sherlock’s turn to jab John in the ribs. He did _not_ secretly love that 

Well, maybe he did, but John didn’t have to shout it to the world. What was he playing at?

John turned towards him and grinned. “You do.”

The cameras flashed so hard Sherlock had to resist the urge to cover his eyes. He turned to the crowd, trying his best not to scowl. “John is actually a really valuable assistant,” he said, his teeth gritted tightly even though his lips were stretched into an almost painful smile. “He helps me focus.”

John blinked up at him. “Really?” he asked, clearly very skeptical. 

Sherlock turned his head and for a second he actually managed to forget there were people watching, that there were cameras on them, because John looked so sincere as he asked him that. Sherlock’s fake smile fell from his face. “Yes. I no longer know how to work without you around.” 

It was like everything turned completely silent as Sherlock stared down into John’s slightly questioning eyes. For just a couple of seconds it was like they were completely alone and it was unlike anything Sherlock had ever experienced before. He knew they were not alone and yet he felt as if they were. Curious. 

When Lestrade cleared his throat loudly and pointedly they both snapped out of it. John shifted on his feet and Sherlock squared his shoulders and looked out over the reporters that were looking back at them as if they were pieces of meat, his eyes daring them to say something. 

“Do you feel the same way, Doctor Watson?”

“Do I what?” he asked and Sherlock wondered if it was only him who noticed how John’s voice cracked a little on the last syllable. Probably. 

“Do you feel the same?” the reporter repeated. “About him.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to shift on his feet and he didn’t need to look at John to know that he was becoming flustered. 

“I um,” he started and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I… I guess?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You guess?” he asked incredulously and John rolled his eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Fine, yeah. Yes, I do. You all happy now? I actually like this cocky bastard, now you know.”

Behind them, Lestrade hit his face with his palm, muttering something about language and media and other insignificant things Sherlock couldn’t be bothered with. 

“What’s the best thing about him?” someone shot in and Sherlock wondered when this had turned into ‘The John and Sherlock show’ instead of a press conference to talk about a case involving several gruesome murders. People were too easily side-tracked by petty matters and it would have annoyed him more if John’s reactions weren’t so amusing. 

“The best thing about Sherlock?” John mused and looked at Sherlock in a way that was almost searching, analysing. Ironically enough the scrutiny felt a little uncomfortable. “Definitely not the way he suddenly starts playing the violin in the middle of the night or the way he sometimes shoots holes in the wall out of boredom,” he joked lightly and people laughed as if it was hilarious. It was not. Sherlock scowled. “No, I’ll be serious. The best thing…” he trailed off, thinking, and Sherlock caught himself wondering if it was a bad thing that it should take John so long to come up with an answer to that. Perhaps he should be insulted? “It must be,” John said after a short while, searching Sherlock’s eyes for god knows what. “It must be the way that we can be in the same room together without _having_ to talk. You know sometimes you have those relationships with someone where you always have to fill the silence so it won’t turn awkward. It’s not like that with us. We can just sit there quietly and not say a word for hours and it won’t feel strained even once. And then suddenly we’ll laugh, at the same time, at absolutely nothing.” He paused and shook his head with a small laugh, his eyes still on Sherlock. “I don’t know, we just get each other. I get him. Even if I don’t always understand what the hell he’s saying,” he added and people laughed once again. “And sometimes he’s bloody irritating but that’s what happens when you live together. I guess the best thing is that I can be myself around him. There’s no need to pretend because he would notice it right away if I was. There are no secrets. No important secrets anyway. He’s, well, he’s my best friend.”

John ended his speech with a small nod and all the women in the room sighed adoringly while pens ran over notebooks in a hurried frenzy. 

Sherlock stood stock still, perplexed at what John had just said in front of everyone. Where had all that come from? No one had ever said anything like that about him before and certainly no one would want to admit it in front of all of England. Sherlock was, for once, at a complete loss of words. And now everyone was looking at Sherlock, expecting him to say something, something equally emotional, to bare his soul the way John had done.  
His eyes flickered across the room and he couldn’t come up with anything to say. Not to them, he had nothing to say to any of them. They had no right to know any of this. 

So he looked down at John instead, John who’s looking up at him fondly with eyes that said ‘I meant that, I meant all of that’ and Sherlock muttered “Thank you” and the world went quiet yet again. The smile John gave him said ‘You’re welcome’ and Sherlock could only smile back a little helplessly. He had no idea what he was doing anymore, he had let John take over and that might be just as well. Sherlock wasn’t good with these kinds of topics and he was grateful John had taken on the role as the one who delivered long, emotional friendship declarations. 

It was not until someone yelled something that the world came crashing back into view. He hadn’t heard what the woman had yelled but judging from the loud bark of a laugh that came from Lestrade it probably hadn’t been anything worth hearing anyway. But then someone else joined in.

“Yeah!” a woman yelled. “Kiss him!”

Wait, what?

Both John and Sherlock froze as more and more people joined in and started to _chant_. Behind him, Sherlock could hear Lestrade doing it as well, with laughter in his voice. “Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!”

What was he supposed to do? Sherlock racked his brain for anything that could help him but he came up blank. He vaguely remembered John telling him to just do as they said; he was still wearing the damn hat after all. But that surely couldn’t mean that he should…? 

But the crowd was still chanting, John was shaking his head in mild amusement (and slight horror), Lestrade was dying from excessive laughter, Donovan was recording with her phone, and Sherlock knew what to do. He turned towards John who was looking at him with an expression that quickly went from from ‘Can you believe they’re doing this?’ to ‘why are you looking at me like that?’ to ‘oh god, you’re not actually going to do it?!’ in the course of exactly two point three seconds before Sherlock grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him upwards into a kiss. 

The crowd went wild with cheers and applause. Somewhere in the background Lestrade choked hard on whatever he had been drinking, hammering his fist against his chest, and Donovan’s phone slipped from her fingers. Sherlock hoped it broke. 

John stood there, stunned, for the first couple of seconds that Sherlock kissed him before he tentatively raised his hands to Sherlock’s biceps, reciprocating the kiss carefully. 

The cameras flashed so quickly that even though his eyes were closed, Sherlock felt like he was being blinded, but he didn’t stop. He found that he actually _couldn’t_ stop. It was surprising how much he liked this, he thought as his lips moved against John’s in ways he had never thought possible. He was vaguely aware of the commotion around them but he couldn’t have cared less even if he tried. 

John gripped him tighter, fingers clenching around his forearms, and Sherlock started to understand what it was that people liked so much about kissing. Everything suddenly made perfect sense, if only for that moment. 

The crowd was still cheering, urging them on, and the encouragement was like fuel for Sherlock. He had never considered himself much of a showman or an exhibitionist of any kind when it came to situations like this, but right now this was giving him a high like only a gruesome, evidence-less crime scene could. He felt compelled to give them something they would never forget, he felt compelled to say a big ‘fuck you, I can do whatever I want’ to Lestrade and Donovan and the rest of Scotland Yard, and he felt compelled to show John that he was better than the women he go out with.

Hold on, why was he thinking anyway? Surely you weren’t supposed to think this much during a kiss. He should just shut it off. 

And so he did and the kiss didn’t end, no one certainly tried to stop them. The flashes continued to go off and this would probably be plastered on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow. Mrs Hudson would be proud. 

Eventually they had to come back for air. They parted, took a couple of breaths, their noses still touching, and then pressed their lips together twice more, briefly this time, before they parted for real. The room had gone so quiet you could have heard a pin drop and John slowly raised his eyes to Sherlock’s. He looked confused, but somehow oddly pleased. Sherlock wondered why he hadn’t seen it before and why he hadn’t cared to analyse the annoyance he felt when John introduced him to a new girlfriend. 

They smiled at each other, Sherlock lopsidedly, John rather shyly (John definitely was _not_ an exhibitionist and Sherlock knew this amount of PDA was far out of his comfort zone), and Lestrade cleared his throat again but this time they didn’t look away. A long silence passed between them and then, at the same time, they began to laugh.


End file.
